


But Jesus, I Love You Still

by yourenotfree



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Again, M/M, but Christ I mean they love each other so much, feels wonderful to have written about gallavich again, ian's got a shitload to make up for, ive chosen to ignore the shitty way they treated mick, so this is my version of a reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:25:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9263474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: Fiona said it so calmly, that Ian had to ask her to repeat herself. "I heard that Mickey got released early," she said for the second time, not even bothering to lift her eyes from the stack of mail in her hands.Or, my take on a *happier* Gallavich reunion.





	

Fiona said it so calmly, that Ian had to ask her to repeat herself. "I heard that Mickey got released early," she said for the second time, not even bothering to lift her eyes from the stack of mail in her hands. 

Ian looked down and realized he had spilled a bottle of beer down the front of his t-shirt. He swore loudly, and began mopping up the spill with a dish towel. "Mickey was released? From prison?" The words tasted foreign in his mouth. 

"Yeah, that's what I said. Twice." 

Ian didn't know what to do with his hands. They fluttered uselessly between his chest, the now empty beer bottle, and the countertop. He was very aware of how shallow and labored his breathing had become, as if he'd just run ten miles or done a hundred push-ups. He was fairly certain this was a panic attack. 

Fiona finally looked up from the bill she was holding. Her eyebrows shot upwards. "Jesus, Ian. Take a breath. You really didn't know he was out?" 

"No, I did not know he was out!" Ian exploded. He stood very abruptly from the stool he had been seated on, not entirely sure why he felt the sudden, inexplicable need to be standing. "How do you know?" 

She shrugged indifferently. "Vee heard some guys talking about it at the Alibi." She laughed. "Seriously, Ian, you might be the last person in the entire neighborhood to find out." 

Ian felt like he was sweating. The room had grown far too warm. "I...I think I'm going to go outside. Get some air." Yeah, air. That sounded like a good plan. 

He turned and moved slowly to the door. Behind him, Fiona called, "You aren't going to do something stupid, are you?" 

Probably, Ian could admit to himself. When it came to Mickey, he exclusively did stupid things. 

He shut the door between himself and his older sister, reveling in the immediate quiet. The cover of a dark, starless night was comforting. Ian sat heavily on the back porch's bottom stair, and dropped his face into his hands. 

Not a day had gone by that Ian didn't think about Mickey. All these years later, and it was still Mickey Milkovich, of all people, that had never quite managed to stray very far from Ian's mind. 

There had been others. Kash, Lloyd, Caleb, Trevor. Each had marched into Ian's life, and each had made Ian happy for a short time. But none had managed to be enough to make him forget his first love. Most nights, Ian doubted anyone ever would. 

Ian got shakily to his feet. His legs moved without his direction, until he found himself stopped before the dark, weathered house that he had once called his home. He studied the house carefully, drinking in every detail. It had been a long time since he'd been here. It was almost overwhelming. Ian had experienced highs and lows beyond anything he'd ever known right here. 

He didn't feel sad. He had moved past the bad memories, and kept the good ones locked carefully away in his heart. They were simply a part of him. 

"Fucking took you long enough," a gruff, irritated voice said. 

Ian turned, unsurprised, to the source of the disturbance. He could make out a dark shape leaning up against the side of the house, and the faint orange of a lit cigarette caught between two, unmistakably tattooed fingers. 

It was surreal, hearing that voice again, and for a long moment, it took Ian's breath away. Suddenly, he was fifteen years old again, and so irrevocably and completely in love that his chest felt as though it could cave in at any second. Ian took a shaky breath, and then stepped involuntarily towards the voice and the man behind it. 

"Mickey," he said, exhaling the name softly. 

The brunette flicked his cigarette away, and stalked aggressively towards Ian. "Been home two days. Where the fuck you been, huh?"

"I didn't know," Ian answered dumbly. "I would've been here sooner."

Mickey stopped a foot from the redhead. He cocked his head, and gave Ian an appreciative once-over. When he had finished, he leveled him with an expectant stare. "This is some welcome home. Didn't you miss me, tough guy?" 

Ian wanted to touch him so desperately that he felt physical pain, but he was afraid if he did, Mickey might vanish like smoke into the night. He held himself carefully in check. Mickey seemed to be facing a similar struggle. His hard, thug exterior kept fracturing, revealing an expression of wonderment, though Ian found it difficult to believe he was the cause. 

Mickey expertly lifted a brow--Ian caught himself grinning madly at the familiar gesture--and said, "Nothing to say?" 

Ian smiled wider still. He found his voice. "I can't believe you're here. In front of me." 

"Yes, yes," he said with an eye roll. "Mickey Milkovich, in the flesh. I hear the neighborhood's planning a parade." 

"Fuck the neighborhood," Ian said, too quickly. He didn't particularly care that he sounded desperate. He'd spent far too much time trying to convince himself that he wasn't in love with Mickey Milkovich, and he was tired of pretending. It was exhausting. 

The corner of Mickey's mouth curled upwards in a crooked, deeply amused grin. "I hear you're an EMT these days. Ian Gallagher's got himself a big boy job now." 

To Ian's complete and utter horror, his face flamed the color of his hair. When had he turned into a blushing, blithering idiot?

"I like the work," Ian said quietly. "I like helping people." 

"Of course you do," Mickey said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he was offended Ian thought he didn't already know this. "Jesus Christ, Ian, you wanted to run off and get yourself shot in the army since you were in fucking diapers." 

Shit. He'd forgotten how well Mickey knew him. How completely. God, how many times had Mickey been the only one he could turn to? Above even his family? 

Ian nodded slowly. "I guess it does kind of make sense." He changed the topic. "But I don't want to talk about me." 

"Oh yeah?" Mickey smirked. "Whatcha wanna talk about?" 

"I missed you," the words shot out of his mouth so fast, that Ian himself was surprised. They hung heavily in the air between the two boys, bleeding truth and screaming with so much meaning. Ian sucked in oxygen, because the admission had momentarily halted his heart. 

Mickey visibly softened, something Ian had once thought impossible. "Yeah, Ian. I missed you, too."

There was so much Ian wanted to say, so much he had imagined saying to Mickey if he ever was given the chance. It had built up for so long that now, as he was staring directly into Mickey's eyes, he couldn't decide where to start. 

"I messed up, Mick," he let it all come flying out. "So many times...and I don't even know how to apologize to you. I was unfair to you. I know you...you were just trying to help me. I didn't know then, but I know now."

Mickey reached out a hand, grasping Ian by the neck. "Ian, just stop for a second--" he tried. 

"No, just let me say this, Mick. I'm sorry I treated you the way I did. I mean, fuck, you had my back more than my family ever did. You took care of me when I was at my worst, and I never even fucking said thank you." He paused to catch his breath. Mickey was staring at him, wide eyed and shaken, but he hadn't moved his hand an inch. "I never even told you that I loved you." 

Ian was more ashamed of that than any of the rest of it. It had kept him up countless nights, and even now he could just barely manage to whisper the words. He couldn't bring himself to meet Mickey's eyes, so he instead stared at the spot just above his shoulder. 

"Ian, come on," Mickey sighed. "Ian, would you fucking look at me?"

With difficulty, Ian did. Mickey, looking exasperated, lunged forward and brought their mouths together, hard enough to bruise. With his free hand, the shorter boy threaded his fingers through Ian's flaming hair, locking them into place. Ian sighed against his mouth, feeling overwhelmingly relieved. 

Even after so much had happened and all the time that had passed since they were last together like this, Ian and Mickey still fit like two halves of a whole. Just like they always had. It was destabilizing to realize that nothing in Ian's life had ever come close to making him feel like this. 

"I love you," Ian said forcefully, barely breaking the kiss for a second. Ian knew this confession in no way changed or made up for all that had happened. But it was the absolute truth, and Mickey needed to hear it; to believe it. 

Mickey groaned low in his throat, and pushed himself even closer to Ian. "Say it again," he demanded, almost angrily. He yanked at Ian's hair in a way that should've been painful, but instead sent pleasure shooting down Ian's spine. "Fuckin' say it, Ian." 

Ian pulled back so he could see Mickey's face. His lips were bitten bright red, and his mesmerizingly blue eyes were wild with desire. "I love you," Ian said again, annunciating each syllable firmly. He bent his head and buried his face in Mickey's neck. He mouthed the words into the sensitive skin just below his ear, and breathed in his scent. 

They were magnetic. They were Mick n' Ian. When they collided, there would always be explosions and violence and an unbelievable amount of pain. There would always, inevitably, be bloodshed. They probably weren't supposed to last forever. They were probably fighting fate even now. But being apart had never worked out very well. They had always managed to find there way back to one another, and Ian wagered they always would. 

And Ian didn't want anyone else. He wanted to feel everything, like an exposed nerve. He could accept the lows and all that came with them, if it meant he could reach the highs. Being around Mickey was intoxicating. They drove each other fucking insane and understood one another perfectly. They knew each other's limits and they knew how to bring each other back from the edge. 

It was messy, but they were Southside. Life was messy. And they'd been raised their whole lives not to mind the mess.

**Author's Note:**

> I know they still have a lot to work out I KNOW. But I just want these boys happy for a quick second, as I'm sure we all do. 
> 
> Oh, my love, Mickey. We can only hope you're treated as you deserve if the opportunity presents itself in future.


End file.
